


Oh Children, Rejoice

by Sour_Idealist



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Future Fic, Gen, POV Outsider, legacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 15:43:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4925464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sour_Idealist/pseuds/Sour_Idealist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why are you making that sign? Immortan Joe’s sign?”</p><p>“The Immortan?” She blinks. “What’s he got to do with anything?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh Children, Rejoice

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't think I had anything to add after seeing this incredible movie, and then I opened a Word document and this fic just _fell out_ , so apparently I had something to say after all. Title borrowed from Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.

She finds an old man just past the edge of the Citadel.

She waves to him, pulling her hood back. “Hello, stranger,” she says, moving forward; she has a knife at her waist and a whistle at her throat, so she can greet him without much in the way of worry. “We await one like you.” She raises her hands above her, fingers pointed.

“What?” He lurches forward, grabbing at her wrist; he lets go the instant she pulls back, folding his hands in front of him. “Why are you making that sign? Immortan Joe’s sign?”

“The Immortan?” She blinks. “What’s he got to do with anything?”

“That – that was his symbol.” He echoes the V8 sign with crooked hands.

“No, it’s not,” she says. “It’s the Imperator’s.”

“The Imperator… Furiosa?”

“Yes, Furiosa’s sign.” She repeats it once more, in front of her stomach for him to see. “The eighth of eight, the V8 for the engine that brought hope from the wilderness.”

“Furiosa’s V8.” Slowly, he looks down at her hands, then at his. “What are the other seven?”

“The eight salutes? You really are a stranger. Here.” She points him down the path. “I’ll show you as we go.”

Slowly, he nods.

“There’s five signs and three,” she says. “Five for the Council, three for the fighters.”

“The Council.”

“They hold us safe,” she says. “They drench and parcel out the water. This for Angharad who saw the way.” It’s been a long time since her lessons, but she knows the phrases still. She presses four fingertips to the right side of her forehead. “This for Capable.” She rubs her thumb over her mouth. “This for Cheedo the Clever.” She stretches out a hand, her fingers up. “You take it – you ought to return all of them, salute for salute, although it doesn’t have to be the same salute.”

“What?”

“If someone salutes you,” she explains, “you salute back. It’s polite. You can return any of the eight signs for any of the other eight, usually. But if it’s Cheedo’s salute, unless you have something in particular you really want to say, you ought to salute back the same way. Take my wrist, and I take yours.”

He nods, and slowly reaches out to clasp her wrist. She squeezes back. He’s got some strength there, still.

“The sign of the seed, for Dag.” She holds up her thumb and first finger in a circle parallel to the ground. “And the sign of the eye, for Toast the Knowing.” She taps two fingers to her left temple.

He nods, slowly, tapping back. “And the other three?”

“Three for the fighters. You knew Furiosa’s engine symbol. There’s the remembrance symbol, for Nux the sacrifice.” She clasps at the air and holds her fist to her chest. “And the horizon sign, for the driver Max.” She kisses her fingertips and holds her hand to the horizon, palm-out.

“I see.” He nods, slowly, his eyes on her face. “When – what do you use when?”

She exhales slowly, pursing her lips. “I don’t know, you just _do._ I mean – hm.” She sighs. “Uh, Cheedo’s clasp is for when someone does something clever, if someone helps you out of a problem. Or if someone outsmarts you and you want to show there’s no hard feelings, that it was shiny of them. The seed-sign is when someone’s made something good, or, or you want to show that you think they could, sometimes? If someone’s built something, or when my mother makes a new dish, or when someone has a child.”

“I see.” He nods, slowly.

“Capable’s touch is usually about sympathy, or about sometimes, if you’ve made a mistake, you’ll do that. If you want to show someone you forgive them, it’s that too, or to ask for it. It’s about… about peace.”

“Did Capable make mistakes then?”

“No, she forgave them. She’s _Capable._ Her name means she’s good at things.”

“Ah.” He nods again, foot slipping on the dust. She takes his arm; he gives her a slow, amused look.

“The scar salute – I don’t know why it’s called that – it’s what you give to a leader, usually. Most of us give that to the under-council and the water-pourers. Or the artists, if they make something beautiful.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s… it’s all about seeing a better world,” she says slowly. “ _Making_ it better. Making it or showing it to us. It’s for Angharad, because she’s the one who first thought to fight the old monster.”

“Was she now?”

“Yes. She died, but we remember her.”

“That’s the trick then, isn’t it,” he says, soft, and leans on her arm again. “And the other three?”

“Toast’s eye-sign is for… it’s for getting things done, really. When my mother thanks me for getting water, she gives me Toast’s eye. When my sister does the figures, Toast’s eye. If someone makes something simpler, or fixes something, Toast’s eye.”

“I thought it was the seed-sign, if they make something.”

She makes a rough, frustrated noise. “It’s different kinds of making. I don’t know how to explain it, it’s just the way it always is. If – if they grow something, or make a pot, or make dinner, it’s the seed-sign. If they fix a water pipe, or figure out how to patch your fence together, or fix a wheel, it’s Toast’s sign.”

“Mmm.” He nods. “Go on.”

“That’s the five for the council,” she says. “Here, mind the lizard-nest. For the three… Nux’s sign is for gratitude. _Big_ things, not helping out with the work like Toast’s eye, but for gifts, or big kindnesses. When someone dies, we give them the sign, to thank them for their life.”

“Ah,” he says, slow. “Lovely.”

“Yes. Furiosa’s sign is for welcoming people, that’s why I gave it to you. It means we’re glad to have you here as long as you keep good faith with us, that we trust you’re bringing us something good.” He nods. “And Max’s sign… oh, I don’t know how to explain it. When someone surprises you by doing something good, or they’re starting out on new possibilities, or if… it’s about never knowing what good you may find in the wasteland. You give a mother the seed-sign, but at the naming ceremony you give the baby Max’s sign.” She smiles. “My sister’s son is getting named in a week. She’s going to call him _Drench._ ”

“That’s… that’s good.” He straightens, a bit, coming around the rock. “Are any of them still alive?”

“What? Who?”

“The… the wives. The Council. The five, or the three.”

“Well, not Nux or Angharad, and nobody knows about Max. But yes, they’re alive. Why wouldn’t they be?”

“Are they – are they well?”

“Furiosa teaches us still. I know the boy who carved the cane she uses,” she boasts. “Capable was ill this last month, and we were afraid for her, but she’s well again. The Dag grows stooped, and cannot do the planting herself any longer, but she catalogs and guides with Cheedo. Toast says she doesn’t need a new foot yet, but the Citadel-boys say she does.”

“Why would she need a new foot?”

She frowns at him. “Metal and leather only last so long. She needs to move.”

“I thought she had both feet, once.”

“She lost one rebuilding an engine, years ago. Before I was born.” She smiles. “My friend Keeper, she was born without a foot, so she decided to work engines. Toast could, after all.”

“And Furiosa? Did she lose a foot?”

“No, no, she’s just older. She doesn’t wish to wait to lean on people, so she carries a cane. We could find you one too, if you like, for a few hours’ work.” She steers him around another stone in the path.

“I just need – rest. Water.”

“Well, we have both of those,” she says, smiling at him.

“The… the Council. Furiosa. Can we… can we speak to them?”

“Aye, of course, as long as none of the under-council can solve your problem easier. They all make time for those who need them. Who is it you want to see?”

“Furiosa.”

“Well, you might wait a while, but she’ll make time for you within the week.” They’re coming up to the edge of the Citadel, now. “I’m sorry, in all the salutes I never learned your name. I’m Anghie.”

The old man smiles at her, looking around the Citadel’s sprawling, growing green. “My name is Max.”


End file.
